Meet the bus riders of the TTC, west and east

Star reporter Katie Daubs and artist Luis Ledesma rode the TTC for five days, sketching and talking to commuters. On day two, they ventured west and east on buses.

DAY TWO

2:35 p.m., 165 Weston North

Takako

Toronto is a city where
nearly half the population
was born in another country. You see the diversity on public transit. You hear it too — bits of Mandarin, Spanish, Korean. Unless you’re a polyglot, connecting can be difficult.

Some people shake their heads apologetically — they don’t understand what I’m saying. But most people do.

On a packed bus heading north toward Canada’s Wonderland, Takako Knight is happy to talk.

Her baby named Tomo — Japanese for success — screams from his stroller. Knight pulls him out as a stranger holds the stroller steady, a heartening display of commuter kindness.

Tomo does not appreciate how busy this bus is

She makes chopping motions with her fingers, “chk, chk, chk.” He happily plays with the zippers on her sweater.

The bus stops and nobody knows why. The driver says it has been struck by a car — specifically by a car mirror. “Anybody hurt?” he asks. One guy jokes that hitting the car feels no different than a regular commute. The passengers are dumped on the sidewalk.

While waiting for a new bus, Knight says she came to Toronto from Japan in 1998, for school. She met the man she is now married to and they decided Toronto would be easier than Japan.

“You know Toronto is multicultural, but if my husband, who is a black person, goes to Japan, we guess maybe more difficult time to learning the Japanese languages or culture. So we decided that I move here, then you know, get married and start new life here,” she says.

“But you know, in Toronto, you can see many different kind of people, any races here, right? So you’ll find your home country.”

The only weird thing, she adds, is commuters here don’t move back. Tokyo is busier, but people move back.

Takako talks about frustrations on TTC

She sees packed buses fly past stops, but spots standing-room only through the windows.

“Think about it, when you have a little baby and rain or snowing, I want to cry.”

3:30 p.m., 96 Wilson

Tamra

The 96 runs west, into neighbourhoods near the airport, with single-family homes and apartment buildings. The sun collides with gritty windows, making the world outside hard to see.

Tamra Palmer boards, eating a beef patty. She bought it from a convenience store in her highrise. She is heading to work at York University, and always rides the afternoon bus, to beat the after-school rush.

Random fact: 63 per cent of Toronto’s “before 7 a.m.” commuters are men, according to the National Household Survey. No data about afternoon commutes, although on this bus the majority are teenagers and women, including several moms with children.

Palmer likes the 96. It takes her where she needs to go — work, home, and church. She actually prefers the subway because it’s quicker, but does not like to go south of Yonge and Eglinton.

She just started a youth group at the Northwood Community Centre. It teaches leadership and anti-bullying, and preps kids for the transition to high school.

Religion is a big part of her life. Her favourite part of the bible is . . . “Psalms 22” she yells as she climbs off the bus.

“My god, my god. Why have you forsaken me?”

4:30 p.m., 54 Lawrence East

Edith

One of the
TTC’s longest routes
is the 54 Lawrence, a bus that travels from Eglinton station east to the Pickering border. Round trip for late-afternoon rush hour: 175 minutes.

The bus is packed, seats are all taken. Flashback to Forrest Gump. Suddenly, a venerable act of goodwill: a young student gives up her spot to a senior.

Edith, another senior who has a seat, stands and braces this unknown stranger to help her sit down.

Edith is originally from Czechoslovakia and a helpful sort. She watched the
I Love Lucy
matinee this afternoon. She hates the internet, and her favourite flowers are roses “and cauliflowers” (an old inside joke with her husband.) She agrees to be sketched, but makes the sign of the cross first. She volunteers to hold Luis’ backpack on her lap.

“You don’t see those young people anymore who give the right to the older people,” Edith says, happy that a seat was relinquished today.

In the 1970s, a psychology professor conducted a
study in New York
, where his students asked commuters to give up their seats. The New York Times reported the process was “traumatic” and tense for the students, who tried a variety of scenarios. The best success rate (68 per cent) came with “Excuse me. May I have your seat?” When people were asked if they would give up their seat because it was hard to read standing up, only 38 per cent complied.

There is no Toronto study. But there’s this: a close friend, who is pregnant, is pretty sure if she went into labour on the Dundas streetcar, she would be standing for the miracle of childbirth.

It’s not all bad. She has a pregnant friend who rides the St. Clair streetcar and is always offered a seat.

Edith stands up a couple of stops early; she is not a woman who misses a stop. Resplendent in a long brown coat, she thanks the driver. “Take care,” he says.

She walks on to the street, looks over her shoulder and waves.

5:19 p.m., 54 Lawrence East

Andrew

Andrew Alpaugh hobbles on to the bus with crutches. He’s wearing light blue jeans, and a big black sock over his cast. He may have fractured his heel on Monday. He works in landscaping and when he jumped off a retaining wall, he landed funny.

A university roommate hooked him up with this job while he figures out what’s next.

“Now this has happened,” he laughs, looking at his monstrous cast. “So I’m not sure how long I’m going to be out for. Murphy’s law, right?”

He was born and raised in the Beaches, “but the rent down there is a little too expensive for me,” he says. He moved into a basement apartment near Kennedy and Lawrence almost two months ago. He takes transit every day.

Toronto is an expensive city. Any way you can save money, you take it.

According to the TTC’s last customer satisfaction survey, 30 per cent of riders have a household income of $80,000 plus, 12 per cent make less than $30,000.

The monthly cost of operating a mid-size four-cylinder car in Toronto is close to $1,000 a month, according to CarDATA consultants, a group that works with the CAA. That figure includes financing, depreciation, insurance, taxes, licence fees, and operating costs, but not parking.

A Metropass costs $128.50 a month. The yearly rate, slightly discounted, is $1,413.

The sun is starting to set. The bus drives past a strip mall where “Taste of Newfoundland” fish and chips is next to “House of Pizza and Kabob.”

Alpaugh says he never knew Scarborough much before.

“It’s different,” he says. “It’s just relearning the city I was born with.”

After Alpaugh gets off, a woman with blond hair and big gold hoops leans in and whispers: “Once you pass Cedarbrae Mall, put your stuff away. Galloway is not so good.”

6:20 p.m., 54 Lawrence East

Faith and Keira

As night falls, the bus heading east gradually empties and Lawrence Ave. feels more suburban. A mother and daughter board. Six-year-old Keira places her hands on her mom’s pregnant belly to feel her sister kick. They are going to West Rouge Community Centre for a hip-hop dance class.

Faith Gray says she was told she couldn’t have any more children.

“I had three, I wasn’t upset, right? I was blessed with them. I guess little Riley decided she wanted me to be blessed with her too,” she says, touching her stomach.

She likes living here, near Morningside and Kingston Rd. She grew up downtown, but now she has a four-bedroom house and a bit more space — a trade-off that polarizes so many in the city.

“We’re happy,” she says.

“People think it’s so dangerous, it’s no different than anywhere else to be honest with you, as far as I’m concerned.”

We reach the end of the route, and Lake Ontario is on our right, just outside the window. It feels far from the city.

7 p.m.

On the bus ride back, the driver, a young man maybe in his late 20s, chats with people as they board, and it feels like a social club. He recalls as a kid, a bus driver thought he was ringing the bell non-stop and kicked him off. It wasn’t him.

Now he’s in the driver’s seat and loves it. Ten months into the job, only two people have behaved poorly. One almost spit on him, another was not very understanding of people with disabilities.

He is an easygoing driver. It’s an express bus, but he drops off a traveller at the stop they want — the kind of thing that makes you smile in a city where you grow accustomed to No.

In two days of travel, everyone has been kind, willing to talk and be sketched. It’s a really nice surprise.

The bus finally arrives at the Lawrence East RT station. It feels good to be back near the subway, the pneumatic tube to downtown.

Wednesday:
Check out The Ride tomorrow to learn about some of the people you see on the subway, how people get those big holes in their earlobes, and how to start a conversation based on footwear.

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